


Water, Sometimes Oil

by qafmaniac, vlredreign



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: FEST: TJRBB, KINK: Crack Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qafmaniac/pseuds/qafmaniac, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlredreign/pseuds/vlredreign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gods have a real hate for golden hair.  And a sadistic love of wells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water, Sometimes Oil

**Author's Note:**

> **Content/Warnings/Enticements:** Mentions of sex, lots of bad language, minor drug use, major abuse of the English language.  
>  **Prereader:**[Minxie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie)  
>  **AN:** Mad, mad love to Minxie for riding my ass to get this done, encouraging me along the way when I wanted to chuck the damn thing, and cracking the whip when I needed a spanking. NO BULLSHIT, BB. Thanks to qafmaniac for cheerleading early on, and for the arts and squee. You still rock my socks! Master post at [TJBB](http://tjrbigbang.livejournal.com/).

_In days of old, tales were told of valor and derring do. Tales of dashing princes and shy, demure maidens, of rescue and retribution. And love. Always love._

_Love would negate the effects of a prick from a spindle, of a shoe left behind, of a young girl locked in a tower._

_The hero would arrive, break the enchantment, and he and his chosen would live happily ever after._

_The maidens were always golden-haired._

_The gods have a real hate for golden hair._

_And a sadistic love of wells._

_Although a circle has no head, the woman appeared to be in a position of authority._

The others spread out around her, waiting in anticipation. This was the best part of the campout so far. Every night, someone would tell a story. Most were lame attempts to scare each other; some, like tonight, were aided by various mind-altering substances.

Hail fellow well met, and pass the fucking doobie.

The woman - we’ll call her Shera, shall we? – stared at their faces.

Shera was known by many names. One sounded a bit like the one she was currently using, but longer. She once spent a thousand and one nights trying to stay alive by telling a never-ending story. Seriously, what the fuck did a girl have to do to get a rich guy to marry her? 

Another name she was known by often gave people the shivering fits. That name was Fate.

Did I mention that she was a bitch? I did? Good.

Moving on.

“The story I’m telling tonight is about what happens when you make Fate’s shit list.” Sher sat a little straighter.

“So, is this like a horror story or something?” one brave soul asked.

Sher stared at the young man. “I don’t recall saying that questions would be welcome.”

“Sorry,” the boy said quietly, sitting back a little.

“Now, then. Once upon a time, there were three blond boys. All pretty, with distinct eyes and unique talents. But they were fucked. Unbelievably fucked. You see, the gods created blonds to entice the world, to bring others to them. But the blonds fucked up. They became so revered that no one paid attention to the gods anymore. And so, they made them pay.”

“Wait, so, the gods created blonds, and when people realized that they really do have more fun, the gods got pissed? What a joke,” a young woman snorted.

She was blonde, you see.

In the blink of an eye, the girl vanished.

Sher looked around the circle. “Anyone else feel the need to comment?”

Silence.

“Right, then. As I was saying,…”

It was dark.

It was cold.

His head hurt.

It was dark, cold and his head fucking hurt. And goddammit, the next time he saw Isaac, he was gonna kick his skinny ass. And then, he was gonna find the Jägermeister plant and blow it right the fuck up. 

And then, he was gonna kick Isaac’s ass again, because the fucking distillery was in Germany, and he _hated_ flying.

Fucker.

Tommy rubbed at the tender spot on the back of his head and looked around. The walls were earthen, damp and dark with moss and lichen. The floor was hard-packed, like some sort of clay. 

“The fuck…?”

There was light, but very dim, giving his surroundings an underwater look. Following the source, he looked up. The light was coming from above. Way, _way_ above.

He was in a hole in the ground. 

Like, a well or some shit. 

“Well, shit.”

“Hey!!! HEY, GODDAMMIT, HEY!!!”

An hour of this, and Tommy’s throat was starting to bleed. He tried climbing, but the walls were smooth, with no hand or footholds. The only thing good about the well, if you want to call it that, was that it was large. He could, and did, stretch out with his head to one wall, and still have a good six feet between his shoes and the opposite wall. He sat, considering his predicament, when he discovered his iPhone had made the journey with him.

“Thank god!” 

He thumbed the screen, and realized that God was listening, and didn’t particularly care much for him. 

After ten minutes of swearing, he still couldn’t get a signal over two bars, and the only app that was working, albeit sporadically, was Twitter.

Yeah. Like he was gonna tweet out “Hey! I’m stuck in a well, help!”

He’d never hear the end of it. 

But then, what choice did he really have? And, maybe, Adam would see it. Tommy could only hope that Adam was in the mood for a Twitter party.

He unlocked the phone, pulled up Twitter and typed:

_@TommyJoeRatliff You guys, can you RT this? I…_

What? He didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m stuck in a well’ would just bring out the crazies, and then his mentions would be full of ‘omg I read that fic once, remember the one where..’

He was so fucked.

Returning to the screen he typed _I’m in deep shit and need help. Srsly. RT this plz_

Fucking Twitter and its one hundred forty fucking characters. He hit SEND and hoped for the best.

The evening had started off quietly enough. Tommy’d had a great rehearsal and was headed home when Isaac called. He was back in town for a bit and wanted to catch up.

Catching up with Isaac Carpenter meant food, music and Jägerbombs. 

They’d sat in Isaac’s living room, watching video clips of Isaac’s performances, critiquing techniques, crowd reactions, things either of them would have done differently. The next thing he knew, he’d crashed on the sofa. 

He sort of remembered coffee at some point, and the ridiculous notion that he could drive home. He must have made it, because the last thing he recalled clearly was falling onto his bed.

And now, here he was.

In a hole in the ground.

Maybe he was dead. 

He figured he’d probably go to Hell, not that he believed that shit, but still, if he were going to end up somewhere, that’s where he thought he’d be.

“Huh…kinda thought some low-level demon would be here to greet me. _Hey, Tommy Joe, what the fuck, man? Sorry you died, here, lemme show you around._ But no, I’m in a fucking well or some shit and NOBODY WILL FUCKING ANSWER ME! HELLO! HEL-LO!!”

Tommy bounced to his feet and tried the climbing thing again. He managed, in his anger, to get three feet off the ground before losing his footing and ending up on his ass, again.

“FUCK!”

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t getting out that way. And…

“Oh, shit!” Tommy scrabbled through his pockets, heaving a sigh of relief when he found his phone in his jacket, unharmed from his return to earth. He figured it had been long enough. Thumbing the screen, he sent up a, well, not-quite prayer and checked Twitter.

“Oh, Jesus…”

It wasn’t what he’d feared. 

It was worse.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was, indeed, really in trouble, he’d be amused at the ‘tjlikestitties’ Twitter name. As it was, he was tired, cold and hungry.

And goddamn it, he needed to pee. Tommy stood, walked the six feet to the other side, and…walked a little further.

The well…well, _grew_. Like, for real, got larger. As in, was twelve feet in diameter to holy shit, was currently about fifteen feet in diameter.

If Tommy Joe was a thinking kind of man, he might have realized that something was amiss. But he wasn’t, and so he unbuttoned and unzipped, aimed and shot. The sigh of relief echoed around the well.

Refastened, Tommy returned to his spot, and, momentarily out of ideas, curled into a tight ball and fell asleep. He was lucky in that he really could fall asleep anywhere. 

Waking up was…well, onto part two of our little tale.

_Shera bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh._

_Humans were so easy._

_Her little group of ‘campers’ were on the edges of their seats. They were almost as gullible as the group of Romans she once entranced. They actually believed that Spartacus was dead. Oh, sure, they couldn’t find his body amongst the dead that day after the battle. And of course she’d never tell anyone about the two goat farmers that spirited the injured-but-very much alive Spartacus away. She really liked those two. But, as was her wont, the blond had to pay._

_Too bad. Gannicus was really a hot piece of ass. As was Saxa._

_“Umm, excuse me, but how did they get into the well? And where was it? Did they-“_

_“You wanna shut the fuck up and let me tell the story? Or do you want to end up where I sent that other silly little bint?”_

_The girl who’d spoken jumped back as if poked. “No! No, I’m good. It’s a good story!”_

_The others nodded._

_Sher narrowed her gaze, wondering if they were being honest. It wasn’t that good of a story…not yet. It needed a bit of seasoning. Like, say a drama princess. Maybe two. Because, really, Tom Hanks was pretty fucking boring on that island until Wilson came along._

_And she’d never tell a soul, but as far as blonds went, she actually liked Tommy Joe a bit. He didn’t believe that anyone such as she actually existed. That was fine._

_She thought, perhaps, after her ‘story’ was completed, that she would pay him a visit._

_After all, a broken clock is right twice a day._

_She grabbed her empty glass, poured a few fingers of scotch, and drank. Shivering slightly as the alcohol burned a path to her stomach, she continued her tale._

Justin Taylor was fucked out. Completely, totally, ass-numbingly fucked out.

Lying facedown, tangled in Brian’s ridiculously high thread-count sheets, he stretched, wriggling his toes. 

“You getting up any time soon?” 

Justin turned his head towards Brian’s voice. “Thought you were fucking me again.”

“I sucked you, rimmed you and fucked you into a coma. When is it going to be enough, Justin?”

Justin opened one eye, stared at Brian as if he’d grown another head. 

He wondered how long Brian could keep a straight face. 

God, he was fucking adorable when he bit his bottom lip. 

And Jesus fucking Christ, how was it that Brian was even hotter than he’d been years ago when he’d dumped a bottle of water on his head and stood, naked and owning the world and everything in it?

His dick woke up and asked the same question.

“I think you need to fuck me now.”

“I would, except your ass tastes like…ass. And you stink.” Brian yanked the sheets off Justin. “Go take a shower.”

“You know, the last time you told me that I stink –“

“Don’t. Just…don’t.”

And trust Justin to kill the mood. “Sorry.”

“Sorry’s –“

“Bullshit, I know.” Justin rose to his knees and pulled Brian’s head down for a kiss. “Forgive me?”

“Maybe. Blow me ‘til I pass out and I’ll let you know.” Brian headed for the bathroom.

Justin would have followed, but decided to wait five minutes. By then, Brian would be more than ready to have his dick sucked. He lay back down and closed his eyes.

Five minutes, then he’d go.

Too bad. He really should have gone into the bathroom.

Tommy discovered one other thing his phone would do.

Play Candy Crush.

He still wasn’t sure how it was that his phone had a full charge. He was almost positive that he hadn’t plugged it in before passing out, but then, he was also sure that he hadn’t passed out with his jacket on. In fact, he knew he hadn’t. He’d tossed it on the floor, along with his shoes. And here he was, in a hole in the ground, shoes and jacket in tow.

Okay, so maybe there wasn’t a God. _Gods_ , though…there was that Loki dude, but wait…he turned out to be Gabriel, as in archangel…

“That’s Supernatural, stupid.”

It freaked him out when his voice bounced back to him. Maybe if he played some music…he scrolled his apps and tapped the music file. Crossing his fingers, he hit play.

_She spreads herself wide open to let the insects in_

“Thank god.”

Except…he turned his head and caught sight of a centipede crawling up the wall.

Okay, really, whoever he pissed off enough to end up down here was gonna _fucking die_ when he got out.

If he got out. 

Fuck it. Let the bugs come. He was gonna listen to fucking Trent and fucking Twiggy and motherfucking Peter Murphy, goddammit, because “I’m in a _fucking well like Baby fucking Jessica and I’m sick of this shit!_ ” he screamed.

And if that didn’t creep him out enough, the body landing on his legs did.

Actually, though he’d never admit it, he screamed like a fucking girl.

As did the body lying on him.

What happened next was an amusing rendition of ‘who’s on first’.

“What the fuck-“

“Who the fuck-“

“Where am-“

“Where did-“

“Wait, stop.” Tommy raised his hands, palm out. “Where did you come from?”

“Pittsburgh.”

“We’re in _Pittsburgh??_ Tommy screeched.

“How the fuck do I know? I fell asleep on my boyfriend’s bed and woke up here.” Justin looked down. “Fully dressed, it seems.”

“Yeah, I fell asleep with my shoes and jacket off, and woke up with them on me.”

“Well, I dozed off completely naked.”

“Completely?”

“Yes,” Justin said slowly, as if talking to a child. “I don’t normally fuck fully clothed. Unless, you know, I’m at Babylon, or in the alley behind it.”

“What’s Babylon?”

“A gay dance club. Where are you from, anyway?”

“Burbank.”

 _That explains so much_ , Justin thought. “So, we’re in Burbank, then?”

“I don’t know _where_ the fuck we are!” Tommy threw his hands up, then lowered his head into them. “All I know is, I passed out last night, this morning, last week, who the fuck knows, and woke up in a fucking hole in the ground!”

Justin looked around. “I’d call it an oubliette, only there seems to be a bottom.”

“Call it what you want, it’s not my bed. Or Burbank. Or Adam’s-“ Tommy broke off.

“Adam?”

“Erm.” Tommy held out his hand. “I’m Tommy Joe Ratliff.”

“You always introduce yourself that way?” Justin asked.

“What? It’s my name.”

“I just meant that I don’t give full name when I introduce myself.”

“I go by Tommy Joe. So…”

“Ah, okay. I’m Justin. Justin Taylor.”

They shook.

“So, Tommy Joe…any ideas on how to get out of here?”

“Dude, seriously?” Tommy rolled his eyes. It was then he noticed that Justin was wearing cargo pants. “You wouldn’t happen to have a cell phone, would you?”

“I don’t…” Justin began emptying his pockets. Six condoms, four packets of lube, a travel box of antihistamines, three joints, a book of matches with the Babylon logo stamped on the front, a Marlboros pack with one cigarette left…and a Power Bar. 

“Aw, man, I’m starving!” Tommy groaned.

“Here, take it.” Justin tossed the bar at Tommy. Tommy tore off the wrapper and ate half in one bite. Remembering that he did have manners, he offered the rest to Justin. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I hate those things. I took it from a friend to be polite.”

Tommy re-wrapped the remainder, stowing it for later. “Dude, you sure carry a lot of shit.”

“Be prepared.” Justin sighed. “No phone, though.”

“I have one.”

“You do?” Justin asked. “Does it work?”

“Sort of. It’s fully charged, and let me play a game and a song, and…”

Justin raised an eyebrow. 

“…and I can only get Twitter to work.”

“Shit.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Tommy pulled up his Twitter feed and handed Justin the phone. 

Justin took the phone, scrolled a bit, blinked, then laughed. “Okay, wait, you have a following? Of –“ Justin peered down –“fifty-nine thousand people? What, are you famous or something?”

“Or something,” Tommy murmured.

“ _Tommy Joe Ratliff, the official Tommy Joe Ratliff twitter, musician, guitar player for Adam Lambert…” Justin stared at Tommy. “You play guitar for Adam Lambert?”_

“Yeah.”

“ _The_ Adam Lambert?”

“Ye-ah…”

“As in Idol, kissed a guy on…oh, shit! You’re him!” 

Tommy laughed. “I’m him.”

Justin’s grin was evil and adorable all at the same time. “Oh my god…you know, that straight thing? You’re doing it all wrong.”

“Not really.”

“So…then, you’re not straight like you’re always proclaiming?”

“Dude…Adam proclaims my straight. All I ever said was I like tits.” 

“Umm, eww.” Justin wrinkled his nose.

“You never fucked a girl?” Tommy asked, tucking his fringe behind his ear.

“Didn’t say that.”

“So, what? You saw pussy and decided to hibernate or some shit?”

“No,, I…no,” Justin laughed. “It’s…you should never fuck your best friend.”

“Why not?”

“What, Adam’s your best friend?”

Tommy smiled. “Yeah, he is.”

“And your boyfriend?”

“Kinda.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that we don’t have a label for what we are.”

“No excuses, no apologies, no regrets,” Justin said quietly.

Tommy looked at Justin, really looked at him. “Yeah. Although…you say that as if there’s a story behind it.”

“Isn’t there always?”

Tommy removed his jacket and pillowed it behind his head. “Tell me. Looks like we’re gonna be here awhile.”

Tommy was floored. Justin’s story was the stuff of dreams and nightmares. “So, a guy that you gave a handjob to was, what, jealous of you? And he bashed you with a baseball bat?”

“Something like that. I really don’t remember. Well, I remember some things, and other details have surfaced over the years. For the most part, I only clearly remember asking Brian to go to the Prom with me.”

“What else?”

“Ummm…Brian said we were dancing around the garage, goofing off. Sometimes I get a glimpse of him kissing me. It’s just…like an eye blink, you know? But there was something in Brian’s eyes, on his face. I never told him, but I knew in that moment, he didn’t just love me. He was in love with me.” Justin stared at a spot above Tommy’s head, remembering that one moment that came to him in dreams. That look on Brian’s face, that hesitation just before he kissed him. 

“Huh. And the gang thing?”

“That was…an exercise in massive stupidity. It did have a positive outcome, though. I made Hobbes shit his pants. For once, he knew what it felt like to be me, to be that fucking scared. I told myself that night that no matter what, I’d never let anyone make me feel that way again.” Justin bit his thumbnail, recalling the feel of cold steel and retribution.

“And then you got blown up. Dude, I can’t even.” Tommy shook his head. “I think you should fire up that blunt.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot about that.” Justin fished one of the joints from his pocket, stuck it in his mouth and lit it. He sucked the smoke deep into his lungs, closed his eyes and concentrated on not coughing. Like Brian said Michael always did. He slowly released the smoke, and passed the joint to Tommy.

Tommy didn’t smoke, but show him some weed and game on. He mimicked Justin, drawing slowly, breathing in, and only coughed a little on the exhale. “This shit is strong.”

“Only the best for Brian Kinney.” Justin took the joint back, and he and Tommy shared one more hit before Justin stubbed it out on the wall. He had no idea how long they’d be in the well, and oblivion was going to be a commodity that they would need to endure. “Okay, your turn. Tell me all about the rock star life.”

“Trust me, my story isn’t nearly as ‘oh my god, what the fuck’ as yours.”

“Don’t care. Tell me anyway.”

So Tommy told Justin about his life. Growing up, being picked on because of his size, going glam-goth in high school, his love of guitar and the skeevy jobs he’d taken to keep a roof over his head and frozen food in his fridge. He told Justin about the day he’d gambled it all on a chance audition and, in his mind, the one thing that granted him his fondest wish – his face. No matter what Adam told him, he remained adamant that the fact that he was pretty was the deciding factor in his initial employment. His ability and loyalty was part of the reason he still worked with Adam.

“I saw that video of Amsterdam,” Justin said, laying on his side. The weed had hit that point where he was all loose and mellow. “Brian loved it. He said that he liked Adam for being all in your face before, but the whole getting high and getting off in a church, let’s just say that it was something Brian would have done.”

“That was a crazy night.” Tommy had removed his jacket once more, and put it behind his head. His body temperature was all over the place. One minute freezing, the next, overly warm and suffocating. “And the weed was top shelf.”

“I’ll bet. Did you know that there was a video of you adjusting your junk?”

Tommy groaned. “Yes. How could I not? It was plastered all over Twitter.”

“Yeah, like I said. That straight thing, doing it wrong.” 

Tommy decided he liked Justin. Even if he was full of shit.

“Never said I was straight.”

“Never said you weren’t.”

“Tits, man. Tits are good.” Tommy moved his hands to his chest, holding them as if he were juggling melons. 

“For you. Give me a big, thick cock anyday.”

“Nothing wrong with that, either.”

“Why don’t you just admit you’re bi and get on with it?” Justin said, waving his free hand towards Tommy.

“Why should I have to?” Tommy turned his head towards Justin. “Besides, I like to think of it as…fluid. I like what I like. I don’t feel like I need to stick a label on it.”

“Fair enough.” Justin sighed. “Much as I don’t mind the company, how the fuck are we going to get out of here?”

“Well, unless you have a magic wand hidden in your pocket, no fucking clue.” Tommy checked his phone once more. “Hold on, Adam tweeted.”

@adamlambert @TommyJoeRatliff ?

“Shit!” Tommy started tapping furiously on the phone, once again praying to gods he didn’t believe in, hoping for a break, just one fucking break, please and thank you.

@TommyJoeRatliff @adamlambert Dude, I’m in a fucking hole in the ground! No shit. And Im not alone 

Tommy stared at the screen, willing Adam to see and respond. He didn’t have to wait long.

@adamlambert @TommyJoeRatiff RU SRS!? Where? Do you know?

Tommy began to respond, as his feed blew up spectacularly. He ignored the replies flying by as he thought of a response.

“Tell him to contact Brian. Can you do a direct message?” Justin asked.

“No, I tried.”

“Try again. I really don’t want to broadcast Brian’s number…wait, he has a cell for Kinnetik, that’s a public number.”

“His agency? Would he answer it?”

“Since I kinda disappeared from his bed, I think so. If nothing else, he’ll answer it just to cuss me out.”

“M’kay, I’ll give it a shot. Hopefully this won’t kill the regular Twitter connection.” Tommy typed out _don’t know wtf I am. sm1 with me, name is Justin Taylor from pittsburgh PA. contact his bf Brian Kinney 8785553969. ___

Tommy hit send. When he flipped back to his feed, he laughed out loud.

“What?” Justin asked.

Tommy turned the phone in Justin’s direction.

“Your fans are scary,” Justin proclaimed.

“You don’t know the half of it. They write ‘stories’ about me. About me and Adam. And Adam and other people.”

“Like Harry Potter fanfiction?”

“Yeah…hey, how do you know about that?”

Justin re-lit the joint, took a hit and passed it over. “I lived in New York for a few years, trying to sell my art. At first, I made enough to keep a roof over my head, Ramen in my cabinets and a working internet connection. One night I was broke and bored, so I started trolling the web for porn. And I came across a website for Harry Potter porn. I found this one that was…it was pretty hot. It didn’t even have sex in it, just one person telling the other what they wanted to do to them. Hell, I called Brian and read it to him. Best phone sex I ever had.”

Tommy laughed. “Yeah, there’s this one chick that used to write stories about me and Adam. The funny thing was, she kinda nailed me. Personality-wise, that is. And well, yeah. She wrote sex really well. But then there’s other stuff out there that’s…I don’t go looking for that shit, but when I’m trolling my feed and I’m bored, I’ll sometimes follow links. And there’s some seriously twisted shit out there. Like, let’s see how many pieces we can break Tommy into before he snaps or dies or some shit.”

Justin sat up. “Okay, considering the current situation, I’m just gonna throw this out there. You think someone’s writing this shit right now? What we’re going through?”

Tommy considered. He thought about all the weirdness his life had become since his twenty-eighth birthday. He didn’t believe in God, or Fate or anything that he couldn’t see or touch or feel. But he had a disturbing feeling that one of those things believed in him, and was currently fucking him through the proverbial mattress.

“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least. And, whoever it is, I hope the bitch dies in a fucking fire.”

_Shera was pleased. Incredibly so._

_“I didn’t think for one moment that they’d figure it out. And, had I been the betting sort, I never would have laid money on Tommy Joe being the one to do it. But then, I’d forgotten that, although Tommy sported blond hair, his roots were brown. And that, of course, changed everything. And so, because I am one of the Fates, and because I really am a bitch, I decided to rescue them._

_“But not before_ really fucking with their little blond heads.”

She glanced at her audience. They stared back, rapt with amazement. One boy actually raised his hand before speaking. Amused, she nodded in his direction.

“So, they weren’t supposed to figure out that you were messing with them?”

“Well, there was a chance that it would occur to them, but no, they weren’t. They were stoned, you see. I was hoping that they’d be too out of it to follow A to B.”

Another boy spoke up. “It’s because Tommy isn’t really blond, right? Oops!”

Shera turned towards him, staring intently. Before he could say a word in apology, she snapped her fingers.

“I… _really_ hate being interrupted,” Shera said, growling softly.

Suffice it to say, she was not interrupted by so much as a cough before she was done.

“Potter, tell me again why we’re out in the middle of Merlin knows where in the middle of the night in the fucking rain?”

Draco Malfoy was in rare form. He’d been ranting for the last hour, since being metaphorically kicked out of a nice warm bed, naked and two seconds from an amazing orgasm courtesy of Harry’s cock in his ass. 

“Because,” Harry said, for the third time, actually, “we drew the on-call chit tonight. Wait…what the fuck…?” Harry looked around, paying attention this time. “Oh, for the love of…do you know where we are?”

“If I knew where we were, I wouldn’t be asking you. Do pay attention.” Draco pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. 

“We’re in Spinner’s End,” Harry announced. “See that building? That’s where Snape grew up.”

“How do you…never mind,” Draco replied. “My mother came here before our sixth year. That’s when she had him make that Unbreakable Vow to protect me.”

“I know. That year…”

“Yeah. I tried to get the Unspeakables to Obliviate that.”

Harry stopped walking. “You never told me that.”

Draco shrugged. “Well, wouldn’t you want them to scrub parts of your life if you could?”

“Actually, no. As bad as things got, if I didn’t remember them, I’d just repeat them.”

“’He who forgets history is doomed to repeat it’.”

“Spot on, Lord Malfoy.”

“Shut it, you.” 

It was just before midnight when Harry and Draco received the Floo call from none other than the Department Of Mysteries newest wunderkind, Blaise Zabini.

Much to the never-ending irritation of the previous newest wunderkind, Hermione Granger.

Draco was in a right snit due to the interruption of a great fuck. Harry wasn’t happy about it either (his cock was most upset), but had learned over time that attempting to get a word in edgewise when Draco went all Malfoy on him was an exercise in futility.

There’d been a large magical disruption near his former home in Surrey. Scans had been unsuccessful as to the type, but the Unspeakables seemed to believe it to be of a time distortion sort. Why that had anything to do with Harry, he wasn’t sure, but Zabini was of a mind that whatever it was, something bad was going to come out of it. And who better to deal with something bad other than The Boy Who Lived, Defeater Of The Dark Lord, Harry Bloody Potter?

He really hated being himself some days.

And so, he found himself in the middle of a field in the middle of the night in the middle of fucking Spinner’s End. 

Someone was going to pay for this.

Unbeknownst to him, someone was about to. 

And for once, Fate left him alone.

He could kiss Her for that.

As soon as he bitched her out.

Because he just knew that he was going to be blamed for this.

“Hey, Harry, I think I found something!” Draco called. 

Harry made his way over to where Draco was kneeling. He added his wand light to Draco’s, staring at a hole in the ground.

Justin stirred from a light doze. He peered around in the dim light, finding Tommy’s leg. He shook it briskly. “Hey, wake up!”

“Wha?” Tommy slurred, rolling to his back.

“I think I hear something.”

Tommy sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What did – “

Shh! Listen!”

Tommy did, and sure enough, he heard voices. Faint, but definitely there, And was it a bit brighter? He looked up.

“Jesus, fuck! Look! Up there!”

“I think there’s someone down there,” Draco whispered.

“Well if there is, I’m sure they already heard you yelling.” Harry peered over the opening, and could just make out what appeared to be two bodies. He checked one of his many pockets and found two of the Weasley’s Extendable Ears. He passed one to Draco, and put the other to his own ear. Draco followed suit, giving the order for it to move. The flesh-coloured pieces of rubber slithered down into the hole, picking up the sounds of breathing. The kind one hears when someone is sleeping. 

“Sounds as if they’re sleeping,” Draco said. “Should we shout down and wake them?”

“We’ll probably scare the shite out of them, but okay,” Harry replied.

Draco leaned over a bit. “Hey! Can you hear me?”

Harry listened intently, first picking up Draco’s voice as it echoed down the shaft, then another voice, a male one. He turned to Draco, just in time to see him slipping.

“Draco, get back!” Harry said, moving to grab him. This time, he missed the Snitch.

Draco fell, screaming.

Justin craned his neck, and, just as his vision sharpened, the light was blotted out for a moment, followed by an ever-increasing-in-volume yell. He turned to Tommy, pulling him out of the way. “Move!”

“What?”

Justin pointed up. “Incoming.” He pulled Tommy sharply to his side, just as the body thumped to the ground in front of them. For such a long fall, the landing seemed surprisingly soft. 

“Is he dead?” Tommy whispered, nudging their newest companion with his toe.

“No, genius. Can’t you see him breathing?” Justin rolled his eyes. And they said he was blond. Speaking of…no. Just, no.

“Is it me, or is this guy blond, too?” Tommy said, pulling the hood from the man’s head. “Whoa. That’s a color you can’t get out of a bottle. And I’ve tried.”

“Okay, seriously? This is some weird shit, Tommy Joe. Someone is randomly throwing blond guys down a well? What the fuck?”

“Dude, in fiction, the blond always gets thrown down the well. If they wrote fic about you, I’ll bet your ass would be, too. Blind, brain tumors, a hustler…you wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve seen.”

Justin laughed. “Well, I was a go-go dancer for a bit.”

Tommy stared, wide-eyed. “No shit?”

“No shit. Didn’t last long. Guy I worked for invited me to an after hours party, then roofie-d me.”

Tommy blinked. “Okay, for real, fire up that joint. I need to…something.”

Justin smiled. “How about we wait until we wake up Sleeping Beauty? And what happened to the other voice I heard up there, I wonder?”

Tommy began shaking the man on the ground. “Maybe he went for help? I hope he went for help.”

Harry indeed called for help.

He conjured his Patronus and spelled a message to it.

_Blaise, something weird is going on. Two men down a well. Draco fell in. We’re in Spinner’s End, site of the disturbance. Bring help._

He sent his Patronus away, watching as the majestic stag trotted off and disappeared.

Harry cast a _Sonorus_ on himself and yelled down the well.

“Draco! Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

Draco groaned. He didn’t really hurt anywhere; he suspected Harry must have cast an _ernesto momentum_ as he fell. Didn’t stop the pain in his head. He attempted to sit up, and felt hands against his chest.

“Whoa, dude, don’t try to move.”

What was wrong with his voice, Draco wondered. He was sure it was a man. He thought. Maybe. He shot his wand from his wrist holster and pointed at the voice.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

Tommy looked at Draco as if he’d lost his mind. “Dude, why are you pointing a stick at me?”

“I think he thinks it’s a magic wand,” Justin offered.

“Yeah, right. Harry Potter to the rescue,” Tommy laughed.

“Potter? You know Potter?” Draco growled. He rose up onto his knees, wand never wavering. He cast a _Lumos_ , lighting the area around him. 

“Dude, Harry Potter is a character in a book,” Tommy began, but Justin’s grip on his arm stopped him.

“Tommy…remember when we were wondering if someone was writing this? I think he really is,” Justin pointed, “Draco Malfoy.”

Draco aimed his wand at Justin. “How do you know my name? Who are you? Bloody Americans, by the sound of you. Did Death Eaters send you?”

“Dude, what the…” Tommy was so confused. “Harry Potter isn’t real, man. Death Eaters aren’t real –“

“They kind of are,” Justin interrupted. “We just call them skinheads, or Ku Klun Klan. Or, you know, Republicans.”

Tommy stared at Justin, mouth open. “Okay, I give up. Just…I’ma sit over there,” he said, pointing to a stretch of wall. “And what was in that shit, man?”

As he moved, Draco aimed his wand and shouted, “ _Encarcerous_!”

And nothing happened.

“Oh, great,” Justin grumbled. “That’s just fucking great! You broke your fucking magic wand!”

The night was filled with the sound of Apparition. Several Aurors appeared, along with Blaise and Hermione.

“Harry! Are you all right?” Hermione cried, rushing over to hug him. Harry managed to shove her off without offending her.

“I’m fine. Draco fell in the well.”

Blaise tried to keep a straight face. He really did. 

“Zabini, what the hell…?” 

Blaise lost it. He bent over with the force of his laughter. “Sorry, sorry! It’s just…Draco…down the well…it’s so…fitting, somehow!” His laughter tapered off to giggles. He wiped a hand across his face… only to start laughing hystericallly again.

“Look, Zabini, if you can’t be serious about this,” Harry began, but was interrupted.

“Oh, get over yourself, Golden Boy,” Blaise spat. “I mean really, look at the situation. Usually it’s you getting your arse in a sling, but if something ridiculous happens, it’s going to happen to Draco. One word: Ferret.”

“Okay, fine. But how are we going to get him out?”

Hermione wandered back to Harry, having given the well its due. “Right, then. I’ve studied the well, and I can say for certain that it’s a representation of an ancient oubliette. The disambiguation for oubliette is ‘dungeon’, and it was generally located in a castle keep and –“

“This is all very enlightening, Granger, but, believe it or not, you’re not the only person who can read,” Blaise commented, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, but you need to understand what we’re dealing with! It’s possible that the well has been enchanted with Dark Magic! His wand is malfunctioning, and the longer he spends down there, the more likely he could end up a…a Squib or something!”

Blaise pulled his wand and aimed it in Hermione’s direction. “Please don’t make me stun you silent, Granger. Please don’t.”

Hermione shut up, more from surprise than anything. Harry needed to defuse the situtaion before it went tit’s up.

“All right, then. We don’t know how magic will react down there, so I vote we do it the Muggle way.”

Blaise cocked his head to one side. “What’s that?”

“We get a long-arse rope and pull them out, one at a time.”

Blaise looked around the area. “We’re going to need more people.”

“And I need to talk to Draco. He’s going to be impossible to deal with after this.”

“Meh, just tie him up and shag him hard. He’ll get over it.”

Harry slapped Blaise on the back, and, laughing, walked over to the Aurors to explain what he needed.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Tomy said from his corner. “I wake up, down here. The only thing I can get on my phone is fucking Twitter, then you –“ he pointed to Justin –“show up, with a pocket full of everything except something we can use –”

“I brought the weed, don’t forget,” Justin interjected.

“Okay, fine, you brought something that got our minds off of being down here. Then, when shit couldn’t possibly get any weirder, we find out that Harry fucking Potter is real, and his –” Tommy gestured at Draco “–whatever the fuck he is, falls down here, breaking his wand and fucking up any possible rescue attempt. Could this night get any worse?”

“Sure it could,” Justin quipped. “We could be stuck down here forever.” Justin slouched against the wall, sighing. “We could totally use Inigo Montoya right now.” 

“Who?” Tommy asked.

Justin turned to Tommy.

“Inigo Montoya? _The Princess Bride_? _My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die_. Ring a bell?”

Tommy snorted. “No.”

“How can you not know _The Princess Bride_?”

“How can you think I give a shit?” Tommy retorted.

“God, you just…you know, you remind me of someone I know at times.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. This kid, Hunter. Annoying as all fuck, voice that grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard…” Justin leaned back, patting his pockets again. “Fuck, I’d kill for another cigarette.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re so short. Stunts your growth, you know,” Tommy replied.

“Oh, you’re one to talk. What are you, five-two?”

“Fuck off! I’m five-nine.”

“Uh huh. Bet you lie about the size of your dick, too.”

“You know what –”

Draco had had enough. “Will you two shut the fuck up! Merlin’s saggy balls!”

Justin and Tommy looked at each other, then, as one, turned to Draco, and dissolved into laughter.

“You just sit there and be quiet, Lord Fauntleroy,” Tommy said.

“It’s _Malfoy_.”

Justin stared at Draco, gave a slow blink, and replied, “What the fuck ever.”

“Look, I’m trying to listen to what’s going on up there. I can’t bloody hear with all this racket.”

Tommy watched as Draco fiddled with something that resembled stretched out Silly Putty. He whispered, “move,” and it slithered away, up the wall towards the top. Tommy glanced at Justin, who watched the…thing climb upwards.

“Dammit! I just remembered!” Harry exclaimed. “Draco has an Extendable Ear with him!” He ran over to the well and, laying flat to the ground, shouted down. “Draco! Can you hear me?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Harry heard through the ear. Followed by a list of requests that included two Muggles, a bottle of liquor, four separate demands for Harry to do something and rescue them, and enough food to feed thirteen people. Someone down there could _eat_.

“Thank Merlin,” Harry said. He turned to Blaise and Hermione. “He’s okay. Hermione, I need you to go find the longest, strongest length of rope you can. Bring more Aurors. There’s at least three of them down there, and we don’t know how deep. I don’t want to use any magic pulling them out. So it’s going to be all muscle.”

“Right.” She Disapparated away.

“Blaise, I’ll need you to get a couple of Portkeys. We’ll need to go to wherever the contacts are for the others. How fast can you do that?”

Blaise cocked an eyebrow. “I’m an Unspeakable, Potter. I have access to things that will give you nightmares.”

“How very Slytherin of you.”

Blaise grinned. “Thank you. Now, can you get me the information I need?”

Five minutes later, and Blaise was still bitching.

“Right. I have to get six Portkeys. Then, I have to go to California, from there to Pennsylvania, and back here. You’re so going to owe me for this, Potter.”

“Yeah, because I forced you into joining the Department of Mysteries. Think of it as an adventure, Zabini. You get to tell people that you travelled all over America in one night.”

“No, Potter, I don’t. Unspeakable, hello!” Blaise huffed.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way?” Harry prodded.

“Fuck. You really should send Granger on this wild goose chase.”

“Oh, sure. Send Hermione to pick up two Muggles. By the time she finished explaining everything to them…” Harry trailed off.

“Yeah. We’d still be here a week later. I’m off.” Blaise disappeared with a pop.

Tommy shoved the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows. “How much longer do you figure it’ll take?” he asked Draco.

But Draco was mesmerized by the artwork on Tommy’s arms. He inched closer. “May I…see?”

Tommy looked confused, but then realized what Draco was asking. He removed his hoodie, revealing a black v-neck tee. He held his arms out for inspection.

“Is that John Wayne?” Justin asked.

“Yep.”

Draco traced the lines of ink, stopping at Dracula. He laughed. “Muggles. That’s not what vampires look like, you know.”

“Really?” Justin asked, only to be interrupted by Tommy’s high-pitched “I knew it! I knew they were real!”

“That’s it. No more weed for you,” Justin said laughing.

Draco sat back. “I don’t know much about Muggle tattoos, but the work is very good.” He grabbed his left forearm and rubbed it.

“You okay? Did you hurt your arm when you landed?” Justin asked.

“No. No, I…” Draco sighed. Then, making a decision he never thought he would, he pushed the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing his Dark Mark.

“Whoa,” both Tommy and Justin said simultaneously. Tommy wrapped his hand around Draco’s arm and pulled it towards him. He thought to trace the lines with his finger, and Draco recoiled.

“Sorry, dude.” Tommy sat back as if chastized. 

“No, it’s okay, it’s just that…that was how we called Him. Or He called us. He’d put his finger on it and…we’d be pulled to wherever He was.”

“So…that was real, then? That whole Voldemort thing?” Justin asked. He noticed that Draco flinched.

“Yes. It really was. And believe me, that was a wake-up call like no other. It was either follow my father’s footsteps and continue to drag our name through the mud, or take the hand that was offered to me and rise above it. And I did.” Draco sighed, leaning his back against the wall.

“Okay, that’s it. Time to get wasted,” Justin said, pulling the second joint from his pocket and lighting it.

“Amen,” Tommy agreed.

Blaise was knackered. The trip to California went better than expected, but answering the questions that Adam Lambert put before him was, in a word, exhausting. He accepted everything he’d told him, giving Blaise hope for the next stop.

 _That_ one didn’t go quite as smoothly.

Brian Kinney was, in a word, infuriating. Blaise had to explain who he was and why he was there three times before he could move on to the next subject. 

“Justin’s in England.” Brian took a deep drag of his cigarette, blowing it in Blaise’s face. 

Blaise waved his hand. “Yes.”

“How the fuck did he end up in England?”

“Mr Kinney, I’ve explained that…”

“Do you know how long a flight to England is from here?”

“No, Mr Kinney, I don’t. I’ve never flown in an airplane.”

Brian took a step closer to Blaise. “Then how the fuck did you get here? Snap your fingers?”

Blaise took a deep breath. Time for a practical demonstration. He turned slightly and Apparated across the room. He then took out his wand and set Brian’s five-thousand dollar Mies Van Der Rohe Barcelona chair and table on fire.

Brian stood, stunned. “You have any idea how much that cost?”

Blaise turned to Brian. “You have any idea how much I care?” He extinguished the flames and repaired the damage with a flick of his wand.

“That was so awesome,” Adam said, arms flailing between the furniture and Blaise. They’d forgotten that Adam was in the room.

“Fuck off, Glam-boy,” Brian said.

Both Adam and Blaise glared at him.

“Look, Mr Kinney –”

“Brian.”

“Brian, then,” Blaise ammended. “Your partner was somehow…drawn to England and left in a well by means that we do not yet know. But believe me, he’s there, along with Mr Ratliff and my best friend. Now, will you allow me to take you there?”

“With this.” Blaise held out a silver whisky flask. 

Brian raised an eyebrow.

“You might want to dress a bit more warm. It’s going to be…a little windy.”

Tommy dissolved into a laughing jag. Leaning against Justin, his new best friend, provider of the best weed in the world, he actually didn’t mind his current circumstances.

“Okay, wait, wait…you got turned into a ferret? I’sn’t that like a weasel or some shit?”

“Don’t ever say the word ‘Weasel’ in my presence,” Draco growled.

“There’s a story there,” Justin said to Tommy, who nodded.

“What have you got against weasels? Besides the fact that they’re ugly as fuck?” Tommy asked.

“Harry’s best friend is Ron Weasley. I hate him. Weasley, weasel, same thing.” Draco shrugged.

Justin held out the joint. “You’re bumming us out. Take another hit.”

“I’ve told you, Muggle drugs and magic don’t mix well.”

“More for us,” Tommy said, taking the joint and inhaling. 

“Shotgun!” Justin said, plucking the joint from Tommy and turning it around. Tommy moved in closer. 

“Wow, that looks…kind of hot, actually,” Draco breathed.

“Pot makes sex even better,” Justin said, nodding. “Come on, hit it, Draco.”

Draco eyed the joint distastefully. “That’s been in your mouth. Both of yours.”

“I can personally attest that the last thing in my mouth was cock,” Justin said, smirking. “Well, before I got here, that is.” He held out the joint again, and refused to take it back until Draco had taken two hits. On the second, he coughed out the smoke, causing the air to sparkle in front of him. Justin and Tommy applauded.

“Do something else!” Tommy said, smiling.

Blaise arrived in Spinner’s End with an estatic Adam and an even more bitchy Brian.

“Safe to say I’m never doing that again,” he grumbled. “Look at my clothes. Look at my shoes! Do you know how much –“

“Your hair is a total loss, as long as you’re tallying the damage,” Adam added.

“I don’t care how much your shoes, your clothes or your hair cost,” Blaise growled. “what I do care about is how much trouble I could get into if I cast a Bat-Bogey hex on your arse.”

“What’s that?” Adam asked.

“You don’t want to know,’ Harry said, joining the group. He held out his hand. “Hello. I’m Harry Potter.”

Brian and Adam looked at each other.

“Did he just –” Adam asked.

“He did,” Brian answered. “This is the weirdest night I’ve ever had, and I’m not even stoned yet.” He held out his hand. “Brian Kinney. I would add ‘nice to meet you’ but I’m still wrapping my head around this shit.”

“I understand.” He turned to Adam.

“Adam Lambert.”

“Good to meet you,” Harry said, shaking Adam’s hand. He turned to Blaise. “Hermione was here, but left to get more Portkeys for the return trips. Didn’t figure you’d want to do that again.”

“I wouldn’t mind going back to California,” Blaise said with a pointed look in Brian’s direction. 

“Can we get this show on the road?” Brian groused.

Harry had a passing thought, and wouldn’t have been surprised to know that Blaise did as well.

_Too bad he isn’t blond._

Then again, he wouldn’t wish Brian Kinney on Draco. The resulting bloodletting would be too big to clean up. Almost on cue, Hermione returned.

“Harry, I figured it out!” she waved excitedly. “We said we couldn’t use magic to get them out, but we _can_ use it on…well, come look!” She dragged both Harry and Blaise over to a contraption constructed about ten feet from the hole. Brian and Adam followed behind. It was Brian who recognized it.

“A winch? How perfect. A winch for my wench.” 

“Good thinking, Hermione.” Blaise had to admit, he was impressed.

“I’ve set the control to pull them out at two inches per second,” Hermione prattled on. “It was easy, really. I did the Arithmancy based on the dimensions of the well, the probable size of each person –“

“Justin’s ass weighs about ten pounds alone,” Brian quipped.

“Tommy Joe doesn’t really have an ass,” Adam replied.

“– and the relativity of the time and space continuum –”

“Granger, do you have to operate this thing, or can anyone do it?” Blaise asked innocently.

“Well, anyone can, I suppose. You just tap the control switch and say ‘Convertimini’. It’s a play on Wingardium Leviosa, but –”

Blaise reached into his pocket, holding onto a small object. As Potter argued with Granger, Blaise waited for his moment.

Hermione grabbed Harry by the arm and began to pull him towards the well. “Come on, Harry! You need to see what we’re preparing to do –”

“Granger! Catch!” Blaise tossed a Remembrall in her direction, and grinned when she caught it. The Portkey activated on contact. Harry stared at the spot where Granger had stood, then turned to Blaise, who shrugged.

“What? She was needed at the office.”

Brian looked at Blaise with growing respect. “Can I have one of those?”

Justin talked Tommy into playing a song on his Phone. After much debate, along with explaining to Draco what a smartphone was, they decided on Manson. Justin stood and began to dance along, while Tommy played air bass and Draco hummed quietly.

“So, are drugs really made in California?” Draco asked.

Tommy shook his head. “Dude, you’re so wasted. Drugs are made everywhere. Don’t you have drugs in your world?”

“Of course. Well, we have Potions, but they achieve the same result. For example, we have a Calming Draught that, if you take too large of a dose, will make you feel like this,” Draco answered.

“Cool. Wait…did you hear that?” Tommy turned down the music as a voice sounded from above.

“Draco, grab your Extendable Ear!”

“It’s Harry!” Draco fished around for the device and put it to his ear. “I have it!” he shouted back.

Top side, Harry pulled the Ear away from his own, wincing. He yelled back, “You don’t have to shout! I can hear you fine. We’re sending down the rope!”

Draco stood. “He’s lowering a rope to get us out!” 

“'Bout fucking time!” Tommy said. He stood, bending his knees and winced as they popped. He and Justin looked at each other for a moment.

“I could kiss you right now,” Justin said, staring at Tommy’s mouth. “You’ve got lips that look as if they could suck the brass off of a flag pole.”

Tommy laughed. “So do you.”

“Yeah, and you’re both blond, and short, and have overbites,” Draco said. 

“And big cocks,” Justin added. “Don’t know about you, though. My…Brian has a nine inch cock.”

“Adam has…well, you can probably see it from space,” Tommy said.

“No shit. He sure likes grabbing it, doesn’t he?” Justin said, a faraway look in his eyes.

“He does,” Tommy replied.

“Can we not talk about cocks right now?” Draco complained. “I was in the middle of a glorious fuck when you two showed up.”

“I knew it. You’re such a bossy bottom,” Justin crowed.

Whatever Draco planned to say was interrupted by a rope smacking the back of his head. He grabbed it. “At last!”

“Oh, no fucking way!” Tommy said, grabbing the rope. “First in, first out. Sorry, bitches.”

Through the Exendable Ear, Draco heard Harry instruct “Pull on the rope when you’re ready, and we’ll haul you up.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Tommy said. Justin helped him tie the rope around his waist. “Well, it’s been real.”

“Yeah. Take care of yourself,” Justin said, and, giving in, kissed Tommy full on the lips. “Call me if you ever make it to Pittsburgh.”

“We’re playing Pittsburgh Pridefest this summer,” Tommy told him.

“Great. We’ll get together.”

Tommy turned to Draco. “Later, Dragon-boy. You need to mellow out sometime, yanno?”

Draco rolled his eyes and yanked on the rope. Tommy rose slowly in the air. Justin waved, then turned to Draco. 

“I’m next.”

_“And so, they were rescued, Portkeyed home and Obliviated,” Shera said._

_“Obliviated? But what about Tommy and Justin hooking up again?” one of the girls asked._

_“That’s another story.”_

_“It certainly is,” a woman’s voice said from behind them._

_“Well, fuck,” Shera mumbled. She turned to face the newcomer._

_“Decima,” the woman said, walking over to join the group. “You’ve been meddling in the affairs of Men once again.”_

_Decima closed her eyes, and, opening them, looked up. “Nona. You’re looking well.”_

_Nona was tall, regal in her bearing, beautiful…and brunette. Raven-haired, actually._

_It explained so much._

_One of the girls looked back and forth between the women, eyes settling back on the storyteller. “I thought your name was Shera.”_

_“I go by many names,” Shera said._

_“Her true name is Decima,” Nona said. “And I’m still waiting on an explanation.”_

_“I was just telling a story,” Decima explained._

_“And attempting to unravel that which has been already woven. Your job is to measure the thread, not change it at a whim.”_

_“I only –”_

_“ _And_ ,” Nona continued, “it is Morta’s responsibility to cut the thread, not yours.”_

_“I planned to bring them back. I was just trying to scare the others into paying attention,” Decima protested._

_“Bring them back? Have you any idea how long it took Morta to put that second one back together? A million pieces takes time!” Nona shook her head._

_“So…” one of the boys said heasitantly, (he still had ‘pieces’ of the other boy on his hoodie) “you’re…the Fates? For real? I mean, we figured she was,” he said, pointing to Shera…Decima._

_“Yes. And no, you don’t want to meet our sister. She can be…harsh,” Nona replied._

_Decima shuddered. “It was just a story! I made it up!”_

_“You played with another’s reality. Really, Adam Lambert? I suspect Ashley wouldn’t be too happy to know that her boyfriend was cheating on her with another man.”_

_“Oh, come on! You know he’s gagging for Adam!”_

_“Once. Long ago. That ship has sailed. And as for the other, well…we had to send Justin back to New York. He still has things to do before returning home.”_

_“What about Brian?” One of the girls asked._

_Nona smiled. “He’s fine. He believes a woman named Anita sold him bad drugs.” She looked around the circle and, clapping her hands, said, “Story time is over, everyone. Suffice it to say that everyone involved lived happily….right now.”_

_The group of campers stood, shaking themselves as if from a dream, and walked towards the clubhouse. Decima watched them go, running nervous hands through her hair._

_Her golden hair._

_“As for you, little sister,” Nona said, steeping away and pointing to the tree line, where a patch appeared to shimmer in the moonlight, “you need a refresher course in your duties.”_

_As Decima walked towards that shining place in the trees, she was reminded of something._

_The gods have a real hate for golden hair._

_The End_


End file.
